Oh, I’m at my wit’s end!” I nearly shouted at my sister-in-law, but I held back. And here she comes again with her suitcase for yet another weekend…

“Oh, Im fed up!” I almost shouted at my sisterinlaw, but I held back. And now shes back again, suitcase in tow for the weekend
“Youre exhausting me!” I nearly screamed at my husbands sister. I clenched my teeth. And she, in reply, showed up once more with her weekend bag
My name is Élodie, Im thirtynine, married to Thibault for twelve years. We have a fairly solid family, our son is growing, everything seems fine. Yet theres a but that has been poisoning my life for years: his sister, Juliette.
Juliette is eight years older than Thibault. She has never married, has no children. She lives alone in the house opposite us and in fact, she also lives with us. Im not exaggerating. She appears in our apartment like a shadowquiet, relentless, every day. Sometimes I swear she has an endless supply of keys to our building.
At first I tried to be polite, even friendly. After all, shes my husbands sister, family. I told myself she would come, chat, have tea and leave. But she arrived every evening. And on weekends. And during our holidays. Even when we had other guests. When I was ill, she was there.
Juliette knows no boundaries. She comments on everything: my cooking, our sons upbringing, the way I dress. Either Im too silent, or I laugh too loudly, my cake is too dry, the flat is messy. Most of all, she doesnt askshe demands. And I endure, because I hate conflict. Because Thibault tells me, Élodie, make an effort, shes alone, were all she has.
I have been patient. But patience has limits.
Juliette works as an accountant for a private firm. She finishes work before me and comes straight to our place. I get homeshes already settled on the couch, the TV on, the cat tucked under the bed, our son glued to his phone. She behaves as if it were her own home. Dinner awaits her. Or I have to wait for her to vacate the bathroom. She dines with us, then spends hours recounting her adventures with the tax office, no one listening. Then she leaves. Occasionally she stays overnight because she fears thunderstorms or the heating at her place doesnt work well.
When we planned a getaway, Juliette tagged along. It didnt matter that I dreamed of a romantic weekend. It didnt matter that Thibault had promised a seaside escape for my birthday. Juliette was there, in our hotel room, under the same roof. Everything paid by Thibault. Yet she earns a good salary, saves for hard days, as she says. Apparently, the hard day is mine.
Thibaults mother sees me as ungrateful. Juliette isnt a stranger; shes alone and needs us, she says. I understand she has no husband or children. But why should I sacrifice my own comfort for that?
One day I finally told Thibault:
Ive had enough. She crosses every line. Shes everywhere. Its unbearable!
He shrugged:
What do you expect me to do? Shes my sister
Recently it reached a breaking point. We went to the theatre, just the two of us. I had insisted on that night out. A friend was looking after our son. No sooner had we settled into our seats than the phone rang. Juliette.
Where are you? Why didnt you invite me? Are you trying to erase me from your life? she shouted over the line.
Two days later she returned, suitcase in hand, nightgown on, her favorite series bookmarked. My weekend is free, Ive decided to spend it with you, she announced.
I stood in the kitchen, fists gripping the edge of the table. I swallowed my scream. I stayed silent. But something cracked inside me.
I dont know how to tell Thibault I cant take it any longer. That I need a home without a third adult. Without constant advice. Without drama. Without Juliette.
And I fear that if nothing changes, Ill have to leave to find my breath again. Because even love cant survive when another life intrudes between you and your spousetoo noisy, too invasive, too foreign.
Today Ive realized one thing: you cant build happiness on silence. Boundaries must be set, even with family. No one should live imprisoned by forced generosity.